


God of Death

by rebeccastceir



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Deadeye (Overwatch), Explicit Language, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Post-Overwatch Recall, Power is an aphrodisiac, Talon Hanzo Shimada, Talon!Hanzo, but I'm tagging to be on the safe side, he's really into it, talon au, trying to figure out how Deadeye works, voice play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccastceir/pseuds/rebeccastceir
Summary: Hanzo switched tactics. “Why do you care so much about a machine?”“You keep usin’ dirty words like that, sugar, I’m liable to -” McCree cut himself off. Hanzo saw a second flash of red and pounced.“Do what? Use the infamous Deadeye? I’ve heardso muchabout it.” He tried to make it sound taunting.The red disappeared, and Jesse’s brown eyes flicked back to him, holding his gaze. “You ain’t the enemy, sugar,” he said quietly. He continued to hold Hanzo’s gaze, and the longer he held it, the more Hanzo felt his control slipping.“How does it work?” he asked, intrigued.“It’s simple, darlin’,” McCree said, his voice just as quiet as Hanzo’s. “’F Ilookat someone, they die. An’ the longer Ilook, the deader they get.”__________Talon's newest recruit, Hanzo Shimada, is sent in to interrogate - maybe even recruit - notorious gunslinger and outlaw Jesse McCree. To say that things... do not go according to plan... would be an understatement.Hanzo hasno ideawhat he's messing with.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, McHanzo
Comments: 46
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wanted a Talon au

“So, _you’re_ the infamous Jesse McCree,” Hanzo murmured, keeping to the shadows. 

The gunslinger sat in a solitary chair in the middle of the room, only partway under a single, weak overhead light. A table in front of him. Plenty of shadows around him, hiding anything and everything the imagination could supply.

“’Fraid you got me at a disadvantage, darlin’,” McCree stirred. “Accent sounds familiar, but I can’t place the voice.”

Hanzo stepped into the light. He was slightly shorter than average, but _extremely_ well-built, and knew his looks and bearing put him squarely in line with McCree’s known preferences. It was a large part of why he’d been chosen.

“My, my, mymymy,” McCree whistled appreciatively, his eyes darting up and down Hanzo’s well-muscled form. “You new, sugar? Ain’t seen _you_ in a Talon place b’fore.”

“Spent a lot of time in Talon places, have you?” Hanzo smirked.

“Oh, I get a invite e’ery now an’ then,” the gunslinger drawled, looking unconcerned. “You the infamous Shimada Hanzo?”

Hanzo squinted. “Where did you hear that name?”

The gunslinger shrugged. “Genji’s mentioned you a few times.”

Hanzo snarled. “Do not talk about him.”

“Can’t say the stories did ya justice,” McCree mused, looking him over as if he hadn’t spoken. He drew a cigarillo out of his chest pocket. “Y’ got a light?”

Hanzo tossed it to him, and McCree lit it. Hanzo didn’t care if he smoked. The gunslinger had been thoroughly frisked, anything and everything that could conceivably be used as a weapon - and that Hanzo couldn’t simply overcome - had been removed. Whatever was left, Hanzo wasn’t worried about. He’d faced far more skilled men. He almost hoped the gunslinger would try something.

It was hard to be worried about him, really. The man dressed like a _joke_. He’d been stripped of most of his accoutrements - hat, serape, chaps, and a battered set of armor. His drawl was slow. Almost exaggerated. He cracked jokes against the men who’d escorted him in, and then expressed disappointment when they didn’t respond. He was… He was a _relic_. An analog agent in a digital age. Why the _fuck_ did his superiors want him so badly? Why did the new _Overwatch_ want him so badly?

“Say, is Sombra back there?” McCree craned his head around, looking past Hanzo at the two-way mirror. “Girl, how you doin’? Still lookin’ to win Hacker a’ the Year?” He grinned widely at the mirror. When he got no response, his eyes flicked to Hanzo. “No? Maybe it’s Amelie, then. Hey, yo, Amelie! They ever give you back your memory, sugar, or they still keepin’ you on the brain wipes?” Another long look at the mirror, another look at Hanzo. Then his eyes brightened, an even wider grin crossing his face. “It’s Gabe Reyes, innit? ‘S ‘at you, Reaper? How you doin, Pop?” He took a short puff on the cigarillo, eyes glued to the mirror. “D’you know Jack’s back?” He waited for a response, and when he got none, his eyes dropped to the cigarillo. And suddenly his voice dropped too. “Yeah, you know,” he said quietly, seeming to sink in on himself. “You an’ Jack always kept tabs on each other.” He looked sad for a second. Then his gaze flicked back up, and he grinned almost mockingly at Hanzo. “The gang an’ I go way back, y’see.”

Someone knocked on the glass.

“Oo,” Jesse smirked. “Am I exceedin’ my one phone call? Tell you what, sugar. You come over here and lemme suck on that hard-on, you make your sales pitch, an’ then we’ll see how we feel.”

Hanzo scowled. He hadn’t even noticed the pressure in his pants until the cowboy pointed it out, and now it was unmistakable. When did - He was -

Hanzo could tell he was blushing red with embarrassment and anger.

“It’s all right, sugar,” Jesse purred softly, grinning at him. “I c’n see it from here. Come on over, lemme take care a' ya.”

There was absolutely no way Hanzo could account for even _having_ one. In anger, he put his own booted foot in the gunslinger’s crotch.

“Oo!” Jesse grinned, startled and laughing. “Nice. You c’n smack me a lil, too, if ya want. I like it rough.” He let his eyes rake over Hanzo from _much, much_ closer up. “Don’t think there’s a thing on that body I wouldn’t like pressed against me, one way or th’other.”

Hanzo straightened up, pushing the gunslinger’s chair away. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Jesse murmured, smirking, as his eyes fell away again. He flicked ash off the end of the cigarillo. “Talon just sends its agents around with water balloons in their pants.” He somehow managed to wink at him out of the corner of his eye. It made fun of Hanzo, and let him save face at the same time. Hanzo wasn’t sure how he managed to do both, and it annoyed him. He stepped forward, impatient.

“Tell us what you know about the Omnic AI named Echo.”

“Whaddaya need _me_ for?” Jesse asked, wide-eyed, eyes flicking back up. “You got Reyes. He was Blackwatch commander overseein’ the project.” He looked genuinely confused.

Hanzo was absolutely certain there was _nothing_ about this man, save for his drawl, his disgusting cigarillos, and his offer to suck Hanzo down, that was genuine. And Hanzo was doing his best not to think about why the gunslinger’s drawl melted into his groin and made him seriously reconsider that offer. He wasn’t even sure why he was hard. The man was…was...

The gunslinger wasn’t even that _good-looking_ , Hanzo fumed to himself. Brown hair, brown eyes, weather-tanned skin -

 _Entire body dripping with lazy, latent power_.

The dragons stirred, sniffing…

There was… _something else_ … going on here…

He pushed it aside. “We know you were frequently assigned to Doctor Liao, creator of Echo, and that you were present at the AI’s awakening. We know also that _you_ were the one who intercepted the train it was -”

“ _She_ ,” McCree corrected quietly, his expression hardening without appearing to move at all.

Hanzo blinked. “Excuse me?”

“ _She_. Not _it_. Echo has an identity. _She_.” He was looking at his cigarillo, but there was something hard and fierce about his eyes, as if he was holding himself back. Over what, Hanzo couldn’t be sure.

“Fine.” Who cared? It made no difference. “You intercepted the train _she_ was being transported on, and you reactivated and set her free. Why?”

Jesse’s eyes flicked back up. “I don’ like seein’ people in cages.” The statement encompassed everything - in the room, in the base, in the world - and there was something soft and dangerous about it…

Hanzo rocked back on his heels, taking time to reconsider. “Where is she now?”

Jesse spread his hands. “How’n the hell should I know?? I set her free, sugar. She could be anywhere.”

He switched tactics. “Why do you care so much about a machine?”

“You keep usin’ dirty words like that, sugar, I’m liable to -” He cut himself off. Hanzo saw a second flash of red and pounced.

“Do what? Use the infamous Deadeye? I’ve heard _so much_ about it.” He tried to make it sound taunting.

The red disappeared, and Jesse’s brown eyes flicked back to him, holding his gaze. “You ain’t the enemy, sugar,” he said quietly. He continued to hold Hanzo’s gaze, and the longer he held it, the more Hanzo felt his control slipping. He’d been at Talon almost since Shimada Corp. fell, he’d been promised a hell of a lot more than he’d been getting, and this agent - this, this _gunslinger_ \- was promising to make up some of the difference. Why _shouldn’t_ he -

“How does it work?” he asked, intrigued.

“It’s simple, darlin’,” McCree said, his voice just as quiet as Hanzo’s. “’F I _look_ at someone, they die. An’ the longer I _look_ , the deader they get.”

Hanzo blinked. Frowned. “That…” Blinked again. “That… doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head. “Dead is dea-” But the moment he looked back at the gunslinger he yelped.

Half of McCree’s face was gone, completely exposed, down to the pristine white bone. His empty eye socket burned blazing red, branding -

Beneath Hanzo’s skin, the dragons twisted and roared, bowing their heads to something far more ancient, more powerful, and more _primal_ than anything they’d met before.

Hanzo’s dragons could bring death. This was Death itself.

Was it wrong that it made him horny?

The skull faded, until it was nothing more than a shadow across McCree’s cheek, the red replaced with a warm brown eye, and Hanzo trembled with lust. This was _power_ , unlike anything he’d ever felt. He could see why Talon - _He_ wanted -

“C’mere, sugar,” Jesse said, stubbing his cigarillo out and holding a hand out for Hanzo to come to him.

Hanzo’s body went without asking. The dragons were _begging_ to submit. Jesse’s hand settled at Hanzo’s hip, bringing him between himself and the table, and Hanzo rested his hips against it.

“Ohh, sugar,” the cowboy crooned, pressing his palm against Hanzo’s groin, through his pants. Hanzo let out a noise someway between a whimper and a moan. The cowboy continued to make soothing noises, rubbing his palm against Hanzo’s crotch, until Hanzo’s eyes slid shut and he was shuddering with pleasure. “Shoulda let me take care ‘a this sooner, darlin,” McCree drawled.

Hanzo gripped the table. There was something in this man’s voice - far beyond the drawl - a power that vibrated through it, through _him_ , down into his core. He wanted to whimper - could barely hold back the dragons’ writhing beg. He would lay on the table. He would lay on the _floor_. _Anything_ to get -

McCree pulled his zipper down, and Hanzo nearly cried out when warm fingers slid around him, tugging him out. “Gorgeous as the rest a ya,” the drawl purred, and Hanzo could have come from his approval alone. McCree leaned forward, using his tongue under Hanzo’s tip to bring him into his mouth, lips closing around his crown. The soft, wet heat made him gasp, a shockwave running down through his core. McCree scooted the chair back, still maintaining his touch, and knelt before him. It was the most ridiculous position Hanzo’d ever been in in his _life_. The God of Death, on his knees, sucking him off - his brain tottered and crashed like a ship in a hurricane. He wanted to bury his hands in that thick brown hair, and he didn’t dare, he couldn’t _touch_ , not without permission. Clenched and squeezed at the edge of the table instead, trying to keep himself upright. That firm, wet tongue did things to his tip that normally took _experts_ , and -

“You can hold on, sugar,” the deep voice drawled. “Might need a good grip for this next part.”

Hanzo buried his fingers in McCree’s hair and squeezed - not really a pull, he wouldn’t _dream_ of trying to direct him - he just wanted - needed something to _hold onto_ -

McCree buried him to the root.

Hanzo lost control. His world - his _consciousness_ \- shrank to the heat in his groin, the pleasures sparking through him like supernovas, one after the other. Tight, squeezing wet heat, and long, slippery strokes; anything and everything a god could do to their willing servant. The dragons roared obedience as -

No. No, he _couldn’t_ -

Hanzo pulled himself away. He couldn’t come down a god’s -

It was too late - his spray squirted McCree’s cheek, a hellish insult -

“ _Tell me_ ,” the cowboy whispered tightly, “why I shouldn’t make you clean that up.”

Hanzo was quaking with ecstasy and fear. He sank to his knees, hesitant - afraid - he had nothing - couldn’t _touch_ -

He _licked_ his salt from Death’s cheek. Another lick. Another. Whimpering, like a dog, thoroughly whipped. He couldn’t get it from his hair, not without sucking -

“Enough,” Death said quietly, raising a hand. It was almost gentle, soothing. He brushed the back of his knuckles down Hanzo’s cheek. He’d performed his task. The dragons rolled over and whined, belly-up, relieved. Hanzo wanted to do the same. Instead, McCree cupped his chin, leaning forward to kiss him, sucking Hanzo’s lower lip into his mouth, tasting his salt. He bit gently on the inside of his lip - at least it _felt_ gentle to Hanzo - but it drew blood. A mark of ownership. Death sucked the blood from his lip, licked his mouth clean of salt.

“Now d’ you unnerstand, sugar?” Death drawled, his brown eyes boring into Hanzo’s. “Why I can’t join up?”

Hanzo whimpered, but he nodded.

“Good.” It was the approval of a master to his pet.

Hanzo wanted to thump his tail, considered manifesting the dragons to do it for him.

McCree’s thumb caressed Hanzo’s lower lip, the mark he’d bitten into it. “Find me when you’re ready to be set free.”

Hanzo shivered.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Reaper demanded, as soon as Hanzo stepped into the hallway.

Hanzo shot him an annoyed look. He _should_ be embarrassed. And maybe later he _would_ be. But right now, his body was still swimming with ecstasy at the power, of being so near something so, so far beyond - He shook his head. “You will _never_ keep that man contained.” He laughed a little wildly, running a hand into his own hair. “He’s not even a man. He’s something so far beyond…He could - he could even…”

Reaper clenched Hanzo’s throat in a vise-tight grip, talons pricking his skin, voice curling like smoke. “ _Why do you think I wanted him._ ”

There was a low noise - as if Death himself growled possessively.

They looked back through the open doorway.

Jesse had reclaimed his seat. His cigarillo drifted lazy smoke from his hand, resting against the table.

One red eye glowed in the darkness.

Reaper misted in anger, and went away, leaving Hanzo alone in the hallway.

Hanzo stood there for a while longer. The red eye never blinked. Eventually Hanzo turned away too.

He didn’t bother closing the door. There was no point.

Sense memory told him his pocket’d been picked, sometime during his ecstasy. His keycard was probably in McCree’s pocket.

It didn’t matter.

Talon could bury Jesse McCree at the bottom of the ocean, in a vault of steel, three miles thick. And he’d _still_ come back to haunt their dreams every night.

Hanzo shivered with excitement.

The God of Death was free in the world.

_And Talon had pissed him off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where to stick this. Is it a one-off? Who knows. Will it have chapters? Beats me. Why is Deadeye one of the least-explored powers in the Overwatch universe? Your guess is as good as mine, sugar. But I _like_ Jesse with an edge.
> 
> If I end up writing more in this Talon-verse, I'll prolly make it its own series. But for now, I'mma just leave it here.
> 
> *Adding to this note: I've got two more chapter ideas, and, once I got both of them posted, will move this story into its own thing and out of the Mood Board group. I'll give another heads-up before I do that.


	2. Chapter 2

An hour later saw him still trembling with ecstasy at the Power that had radiated off McCree.

An hour later saw the dragons still churning with excitement.

An hour later saw him in the medical ward.

It was his own idea.

The medic raised an eyebrow. “I was just coming to look for you,” she said. “Have a seat.”

Hanzo grunted and sat where she pointed. “I take it you’ve heard?”

She snorted. “Our dear Reaper is _most_ upset. I’m to check you for all kinds of fun, nasty stuff.” She grinned brightly at him before darting off to gather needles, vials, and supplies.

She pulled what felt like enough blood to fill a whole second Hanzo, promising to run all sorts of tox screens and blood panels. She even checked his brain function, and made him manifest the dragons.

As soon as he was free of their influence, Hanzo was better able to think clearly, and he brought them subtly under his control. Since he didn’t know what behavior the medic was looking for, he didn’t know what to hide, so he settled for easing their overall giddiness, and hoped that would be enough to allay suspicion.

“Well,” she frowned, and sighed eventually, with something almost like disappointment, “I don’t see anything unusual. That’s a shame.” She turned the frown on him. “Means you’re not under any kind of outside influence, although it’ll be a few hours before the blood panels come back. You know Reaper’s gonna ground you for this, right?”

Hanzo frowned. “Why? If I am not under any kind of undue influence -”

“It means you basically _wanted_ to help McCree.”

Hanzo frowned. Something about that didn’t sit right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

“You’re free for now. Call back your familiars and go.”

Hanzo recalled the dragons - felt, instantly, their giddiness wash over him again - and left.

He went down to the gym, let them play with targeting bots while he worked out against a heavy bag.

Why did he feel _different_ without the dragons? What had _happened_ to him in that room?

What had _happened_ was, he’d got the best blow job of his _life_ , that’s what _happened_.

He swung a heavy clothesline at the bag, grunting in annoyance.

Rewind. Start at the beginning. He’d walked in -

_\- and immediately been on the alert. The man wasn’t on edge, wasn’t concerned, wasn’t nervous like he should be._

That was Point One.

_McCree had complimented Hanzo’s good looks, put him on the defensive by mentioning Genji, and then asked for a light - which Hanzo had -_

Hanzo snarled with annoyance.

\- _which Hanzo had_ _given_ _him without a second thou- well, no, he_ _had_ _thought about it, he just hadn’t seen any danger in it._

_But by giving him the lighter, after being put on the defensive, he had basically ceded authority. He’d proven how easy it was for McCree to push him around._

Point Two.

Hanzo snarled again, and, behind him, the dragons viciously ripped apart a bot.

At least _they_ were following proper protocol.

He snapped a few combination blows at the heavy bag. _Why the fuck had he gotten a hard-on -?_

Well, _that_ wasn’t difficult to explain - Hanzo had a thing for power.

In his own hands, it was an aphrodisiac.

In another’s hands, it was a weapon.

In another’s hands, _used against him_ , it was the most _highly_ erotic combination possible of the two. He hadn’t seen the hard-on coming because he hadn’t expected the cowboy to be _subtle_. He’d expected a fistfight, a verbal backlash. Instead he’d gotten charm, jokes, and an easy, ready grin. Non-threatening brown eyes. He’d been _sucker-punched_ into believing McCree wasn’t a threat, simply because _the man had worn a costume_.

Hanzo unleashed a volley of fury on the heavy bag, nearly knocking it off the chain.

The man had been _charming_ and used it against him.

And then he had _laughed_ at him, and offered to suck him off.

Point Three.

Hanzo yelled at the ceiling, his embarrassment and anger flaring. The cowboy had played him like a harp in less than five minutes. How had - when had he -

 _Genji_.

Hanzo yelled at the ceiling again, his embarrassment giving way to pure rage.

His _charming_ baby brother must have told McCree his weaknesses.

Hanzo beat apart the gym bag while the dragons continued ripping apart the bots. One was giving Ramen, in particular, trouble - she held it in her front claws and tried to disembowel it with her back. Only its tough outer shell was refusing to give, and it kept extending sharp points to poke her belly, driving her into a frenzy.

Hanzo felt a similar frustration. He could analyze his own behavior readily enough. The embarrassment he was feeling was causing him ungodly amounts of rage. He couldn’t blame the dragons for it - they hadn’t sniffed out what was going on - hadn’t gotten involved - until Hanzo had realized how powerful the man actually was. They had taken their cues from him. He hadn’t _wanted_ to stop and analyze the way the man was playing him - he had been too annoyed that it was happening, and too _condescending_ to believe that it could.

And that conversation about Echo.

That conversation had _not_ been enlightening.

He threw more combination punches at the bag, thinking it over. His superiors had warned him McCree would evade, and McCree _had_ evaded. But Hanzo was curious now why they were so interested in another AI when the world had dozens, possibly hundreds, of different AI programs. McCree was right - they _had Reyes_ , who had overseen the project. Presumably he’d been given every file, every update. So why -?

 _McCree had frequently been assigned to Liao as bodyguard._ Hanzo stopped punching for a moment and bit his lip, thinking. He had read Reaper’s report as part of his prep for the interrogation. _As bodyguard, McCree would’ve been privy to small, day-to-day incidents Liao could’ve left out of her reports. McCree would know better than anyone how_ _really_ _intelligent this new artificial intelligence was. That he had prevented Talon from getting their hands on her, reactivated her, and then set her loose in the wor-_

Hanzo straightened up and stared at the bag in shock, dimly registering the way Ramen roared as she finally ripped apart her bot.

“ _She has an identity…”_

Liao, as the progenitor of all the original, trouble-making Omnics, had been given strict instructions _not_ to make her newest truly sentient, _not_ to make it truly independent. Instead…

“ _She’s a she…”_

… Liao _had ignored it_.

“ _I don’t like to see people in cages…”_

Hanzo shivered.

Echo was potentially the smartest, most adaptable AI ever created, _and she was sentient._

“ _I set her loose… she could be anywhere…”_

Speaking of nightmares…

Hanzo could’ve come on the spot.

Instead he recalled the dragons - docile and apathetic now that they’d worked - and went to the locker room, dropping his gloves and beginning his usual workout routine. He could tell how quickly word of the interrogation spread by the way the empty weight room slowly filled up with people, coming, gathering, murmuring, watching him, and then flowing away again. Hanzo ignored them. Most knew by now not to bother him when he was working out. Even fewer dared talk to him when he wasn’t.

“ _So_ ,” a familiar voice chirred. “I heard you had a run-in with McCree.”

Hanzo stopped in the middle of a rep - muscles flexing against the weight, hands firm and steady on the pull bar - and looked at the end of the bench, where Sombra sat, the sole exception to the rule, purple eyes watching him intently. He bit back his annoyance. “And?”

She didn’t look teasing. Instead, she bit her lip. “What’d you talk about?”

Hanzo finished the rep and started another. “I asked him about Echo.”

She barked a quiet laugh. “He didn’t like that, did he?”

“No.” He braced himself, all through that rep and the next, for a comment.

But the mocking never came.

He finished his set and looked at her. Realized the weight room had emptied. “What do _you_ know of him?”

She chewed her lip some more, squinting at him just as thoughtfully, just as carefully, as he studied her. Finally she decided. “I ran across him seven or eight years ago. Before Overwatch fell. Right before our _glorious Reaper_ -” the sarcasm dripped from her voice “- came to be. McCree was…” she shook her head, looking off to the side “… _different_ , back then. He could still shoot feathers out of the sky, but he was … _happy_ , carefree. Kind of a jester.”

Hanzo thought back to the man who’d been sitting in the chair when he first came in - smoking, cracking jokes at the people he expected to see behind the mirror - and nodded.

“I saw him again a few years after that. After Overwatch fell?”

Hanzo nodded.

“He looked…beaten down. Tired.”

The second man in the chair - the hokey relic of a bygone era.

“I saw him again last year,” Sombra said quietly, her big dark eyes looking into Hanzo’s. “At Watchpoint: Santa Fe, you remember when Reaper sent us in?”

Hanzo nodded.

“It’s his and McCree’s old stomping grounds, before Blackwatch moved to Europe. Records indicated they were in Santa Fe for a few years.” She looked at him carefully, before adding, “Moira did some of her best work in Santa Fe.”

Hanzo cocked his head, uncertain what she was getting at.

Sombra didn’t seem to be sure either. She dropped her eyes, fingers playing with a crack in the bench’s vinyl. “McCree was in Santa Fe ahead of us, almost like he was _waiting_ for us. Digging around in the records, same as I was. Only he got there before me and erased whatever he was looking for. I can -” she made a face “- I can find the _shape_. Security logs, lab footage, I _think_ a bunch of communiques between Reyes and Moira. But I can’t tell what was in them. I actually _saw_ him in the building on my way in. He tossed a flashbang at me.”

She lifted her hair and craned her head, so that Hanzo could see the long, thin scar on the right side of her neck.

“Flashbangs aren’t supposed to emit shrapnel,” he frowned.

“Yeah,” she laughed mirthlessly. “There’s a _lot_ about McCree that’s ‘not supposed to be’.” She lowered her hair again. “He got away before I could call it in. Hid in the base. He knew the place better than we did, even _with_ Reaper. Gave the team hell while I was playing with the logs.” She trailed off.

Hanzo frowned patiently and folded his arms. “What are you getting at, Sombra?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I’m not sure. Did he show you the face?”

Hanzo knew _exactly_ what face - the startling half-skull, eye blazing red. “Yeah.”

Her eyes met his again, huge and terrified. “He spoke to me,” she almost whispered. “With that face. He said I was doing God’s own work.” She worried her lip some more. “I don’t even _believe_ in God. But I believe in _him_.”

Hanzo nodded.

It was hard not to believe in Death. He was, after all, universal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, y'all. Seasonal depression really reached up and bitch-smacked me this week.

**Author's Note:**

> When I post Ch 4 I'll move this out of the Mood Board series and put it on its own, so you may wanna bookmark it or subscribe so you don't miss anything after that (but you lovely people know how that works 😉)


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